


the sound of arrows

by fallen_woman



Series: Mad Westeros [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Mad Men
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallen_woman/pseuds/fallen_woman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Peter was eleven, he tried to poison his brother. [AU drabbles, with love, blood, and rhetoric]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> collection of drabbles about mad men characters plunked into the GoT 'verse, although you can read it as medieval AU with dragons.

When Peter was eleven, he tried to poison his brother.

{The reason being: Andrew had bidden him into the woods, and he had stepped on a bee hive. Peter spent the next fortnight bleeding fever in bed, refusing to even look at the bandages.}

The attempt had failed, of course. His face gave too much; they caught him right away.

{The bees had risen like a veil, shimmering in the late afternoon sun, the buzzing even louder than the crazed drum of his heart, and as they knit to his stiffstruck body, he wondered, so this is commanding an army.}

The slavery part of the punishment -- that was his father's. Seven days, to the highest bidder. Anything good, anything worthy you might have ever done is because your name has affixed you. See how you do without it.

But the dress part, the slow spiteful banquet -- that was his mother's. You couldn't even face him in combat. Poison is a woman's tool. So we will treat you as a woman.

The servants, with their snickering eyes, lacing up the corset and adjusting the coiled wig. His brother, hands on his constricted waist, rubbing dirt into cold indigo silk and rippling gold embroidery. I hope Lord Garner buys you, and fucks you every night.

But Lord Garner didn't buy him. Tom Vogel had, at the behest of his eight-year-old daughter.

Your lordship's dress, is that a dragon? Gertrude had asked before the auction, her own gown the same bitter white as sheep milk. Your lordship is so pretty.

Then he had tipped his dessert onto her skirt, rivulets of poisoned Dyckman wine running down the wall, and she didn't stop smiling even as her dress darkened and her eyes quivered, and for once the bee-hum of his throat subsided enough for him to laugh.


	2. she waits for the summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betty Draper, medieval ice queen

She had always been a stout child. Sweets seemed to swell inside her, girding her pink wrists and splitting open her dresses. It wasn’t royal, her mother sniffed. “We’re delaying your wedding until you thin out.”

She fasted. She prayed. She even ran — ran! — on the training grounds like a dog, after her father’s men had departed for the taverns and brothels.

Her father often patted her hair (the thinnest, finest part of her) in reassurance. “Sheath your worries. Hofstadt is a worthy house; you will bring glory to any lord you honor with your betrothal.”

“Any lord,” she whispered to herself in bed underneath white wolf pelts, tracing stars in the dark. “It won’t be any lord.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Black Ice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/326233) by [fallen_woman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallen_woman/pseuds/fallen_woman), [soltian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soltian/pseuds/soltian)




End file.
